The Reason
by BlueBohemian
Summary: One shot, Meat and Khashoggi. Khashoggi is left to ponder his past, morals and Meat.


**A/N: I initially had this posted as a song fic to the song 'The Reason' by Hoobastank, but I decided to repost it to remove the lyrics. The characters belong to Queen and Ben Elton, and not me, rather unfortunately. The one line of lyrics left, from No One But You, also belong to Queen and not me.**

The Commander was as good as the next Bohemian at recognising his own faults. Too good, some would say. Uncannily accurate, others would say. He wasn't perfect, though he tried, yearned even, to give that image; the immaculate suit and the all-knowing eye. But, he wasn't perfect. The Dreamer and his Bad-Arsed Babe had escaped, and he had killed a man. Not literally; he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger, but, as always, it had been on his orders. Now, of course, he regretted it.

Something had gone wrong at the Heartbreak; the guns were meant to merely stun, to temporarily disable someone. Not to kill. Not to _murder._ What had happened, he didn't know. The man had fallen, and she had screamed. He had watched him fall, and heard her piercing scream even now. After the Bohemians had been led away, he had gone to the body; he had searched for a pulse, almost lazily at first, so sure was he that the guns would work perfectly, then, as he began to realise the pulse was non-existent, he had searched frantically, pleading with the man to still be alive. If not for his sake, then for hers.

Later, he had watched her through the televised link to her cell. She was huddled in the far corner, knees clamped tightly to her chest, rocking from side to side. The images were slightly grainy, but he could tell she had been broken, destroyed. He had even gone to her cell, intending to speak to her, but had lost his nerve once he had reached the door. Then, he had even tried something unheard of in Globalsoft society; he had written to her, or at least tried. It had taken all his ingenuity to track down a pen and sheet of paper, and once he had, his handwriting had, though legible, been a juvenile scrawl, and he had burnt it, watching as the flames licked the corners, gradually swallowing the entire sheet, leaving a small pile of ashes. What would he have said to her anyway? 'I'm sorry he died. It's my fault, and I want to apologise'? It was all so meaningless. Though he might have meant the words, she wouldn't have believed him.

He could not, would not forget the look on her face; the tortured pain of loss and utter grief. The knowledge that everything she had had been taken away in a second, and that he had been the cause of it would stay with him forever. He had been the one to take away her way of life, the love of her life, and even her life itself. For what was left for her now? She'd be sent to the Seven Seas, like the others, and would exist, but she would not live again, would never have a life. Wouldn't have the life he knew she deserved. All his hopes, all the hope of the world now rested upon the boy, the Dreamer who knew nothing but fragments of old songs, long devoid of meaning.

More than anything, the Commander wanted to take away her pain, but, given that Globalsoft had yet to gain the ability to reverse time or alter a person's memory, he knew it was impossible. He had listened at the door of her cell, had heard her choked sobs and her relentless singing. _Hell, you made a sensation… I guess we'll never understand, the sense of your leaving, was it the way it was planned? _She had laughed almost drunkenly, bitter at the irony. Of course he hadn't planned to die like that; even the Commander, for all his faults, hadn't planned for anyone to die like that. He had waited, listening to her sobs, her singing and her bitter laughter. Finally, it had ceased; she had sung herself into a state of semi-sleep.

Her singing and the sound of her tormented tears haunted his sleep at night, echoing around his mind. She was a survivor, a fighter, and he knew she would survive this, no matter how much she begged him, and anyone, everyone, else for death. The cells were fashioned in the old design; cold, grey stone with cold, steel doors. Each cell had a mattress, but she had ignored hers, and when he had gone to her cell after she had been taken away, the stone floor had been stained with tears.

He couldn't change what had happened, but even though he didn't know her, the Commander felt something for her. To all perceptions he was someone completely lacking in emotion, but the Commander felt nothing but compassion for the once vivacious blonde with sparkling emerald eyes, whose life he had all but destroyed. He didn't know why he felt like he did, only knew that somehow, she had got through to him, had touched him in a way that no one else had ever been able. He wanted to comfort her, to be the one she turned to.  
_  
_Unlike many, Meat Loaf had always remained staunchly undaunted and unimpressed by the Commander. The Dreamer feared him, slightly awed by all that the Commander knew; the Bad-Arsed Babe tolerated him with an air of boredom he knew to be a disguise for her fear. But Meat Loaf was none of those. It was unnerving, in a way, because he couldn't read her as he could the others, and couldn't tell if she was impassive through dislike, or just because. He was grateful to her for it; her attitude towards him made him feel more human; that he wasn't completely untouchable, that he was nothing special, just another one of the Killer Queen's cronies, just someone to do her dirty work, and to take the blame when things went wrong.

And so, he had decided to change. Not drastically; he had always sympathised with the Bohemians, despite his belief that Globalsoft had been created with good intentions. He had just never particularly agreed with their persecution, but hadn't had the courage to defend them, and to disobey orders. But now, he was going to do what _he_ wanted to do, and do what _he_ believed was right. And if that meant he had to suffer consequences, so be it.

He would speak to her one day; he'd even go as far as too seek her out. He'd tell her what she had done to him, and attempt, however futile it was, to make amends to her for his actions. He had no defence; he could have rebelled, as she had done, against an institution he didn't agree with, and whose actions he loathed, but he hadn't. He'd been too much of a 'pig' to do something like that.

He would start with the Dreamer, and his Bad-Arsed Babe. They had escaped, and he wouldn't attempt to find them. They, clearly, had discovered the bugs in their heads and had removed them, either destroying them or activating the maximum negativity spectrum. Either way, their signal had been lost; though he could easily go to the last known location, and try to track them from there, he decided against it. The Dreamer, if he fulfilled his quest, was the only thing that gave her a chance of salvation, the chance to live again. If he found the Dreamer, her chance of life would be lost, and there could be no rescue for her. And no redemption for him.

Meat. Miss Loaf. Meat Loaf. Her plight, at his hands, and on the orders of another was enough to make the Commander to grow a backbone. He wanted to believe that he had once had one, and that it had been lost through the consumerist world, but he knew that it wasn't true; if he had truly had once had a backbone, he couldn't have lost it. He knew that if there had ever been a time for him to defend his beliefs, this was it.


End file.
